


starting fires, watching them burn

by restless5oul



Series: even when we're breaking (i'll be loving you) [3]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: A Little Melodrama Never Hurt Anybody, Angst, British Grand Prix 2016, Closeted Character, Domestic Violence, Fluff, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, M/M, Sadness, We don't like Jos Verstappen, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 18:48:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7519297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/restless5oul/pseuds/restless5oul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the hardest part about keeping a secret is dealing with the fallout when it inevitably all comes spilling out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	starting fires, watching them burn

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting another story in this series, I've been working on an incredibly long Brocedes fic, so that's been taking up quite a bit of my time (though I'm not sure when that'll get done) and also planning an AU fic. This one's a little melodramatic but I had fun writing it.  
> Best read as part of the series, but works as a stand alone.

“It’s possible that this is a very bad idea.”

That was what Carlos murmured against Max’s lips, eliciting a low chuckle from the Dutchman. Rather foolishly, the two of them now found themselves pushed up against one another in one of the back rooms of the Red Bull garage, the table behind them serving as a backrest, Max’s hands bunched up in the material of Carlos’ fireproofs, and the Spaniard’s own hands were settled on either side of his face. Carlos was right, it was a very bad idea, though it was a few hours before the garage would be teeming with its usual activity, the risk was very high that someone would walk in, and though the thought made Max’s heart beat harder in anxiety, he didn’t have the willpower to pull away just yet.

“I don’t care,” he whispered, pressing their lips together once again, losing himself in the feeling, one that was becoming more and more familiar to him, sometimes kissing Carlos felt like second nature.

The admission that he was a little bit in love with his best friend had been a hard fought personal battle for Max, it had taken until now, a little over a month later for him to feel comfortable with admitting it out loud. Though that was only ever to Carlos, the only person in the entire world who knew how he really felt. He knew that it was far from a viable option to admit something like this publicly, but his family and friends had to know sometime. Even entertaining that idea made him tighten his hold on Carlos, trying to push those thoughts and the thousands of horrible ways that could play out from his mind. _Not right now,_ was what he told himself, _it’s not important right now_. He kissed Carlos as though the taste of him could rid his stomach of the acidic churning of his anxiety.

The sound of a loudly slamming door seemed to wrench the two boys apart, in their haste to break apart, though Max just ended up banging the table against the wall, having nowhere to go. Though the sound had come from a different room, Max still had to work to slow his heartbeat, and from the panicked look in Carlos’ eyes he was doing the same. Just to make sure, he glanced over his boyfriend’s shoulder at the door which sat slightly ajar, and though he could have sworn they’d shut it, there was no sign that anyone had come in.

“Maybe you’re right about this being a bad idea,” Max said with a nervous laugh, running a hand through his hair, trying to diffuse the nervous tension that had settled over them. Carlos returned his words with a smile of his own, his shoulders sagging as he visibly relaxed.

“And don’t we have a race to get ready for?” Carlos asked, raising an eyebrow, “I should probably get going.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Max said, shuffling a little awkwardly, unsure of what to say or do. In the end he settled for reaching out and giving Carlos what he thought would pass as an encouraging squeeze on his arm, “Good luck.”

Carlos placed his hand on Max’s to hold it in place and pulled him closer, leaning in so his lips brushed his ear and his warm breath grazed his neck. The smirk on his face evident in his voice.

“Knock them dead.”

***

Another podium and another trophy in his hand, and Max finally felt like some of the confidence he’d felt in Spain was returning to him. Maybe he could start to believe that the win hadn’t been a fluke, that the podium finish in Austria hadn’t been a combination of good luck and other people’s mistakes, that he deserved this, that he could be as good as people said. Standing up on the podium, looking out over the cheering masses, he felt feather light, and if he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine that the sounds of the crowd were for him, rather than the man standing to his right. Beaming as he descended from the podium, the pleasant dizziness that came with the winner’s champagne already setting in, all Max could think about was pushing through the media interviews, celebrating with his team and heading back to the hotel where Carlos would be, and where they could finally be alone.

Ordinarily he didn’t mind interviews much, but when riding the high of a good race, they seemed to breeze by him, and after much back-patting and ruffles of his hair by various members of the Red Bull team, he finally found a quiet moment to himself in his private room of his motorhome. Breathless, but in almost the best possible way, he unzipped his race suit and pulled it down to his waist, letting his skin breathe, and with a smile he sank down onto the sofa, leaning his head back and letting out a disbelieving laugh.

He covered his face with his hands, thinking back to how it felt to hear the crowd roar when he overtook Nico at Becketts, it was probably because he was so lost in his own memories that he didn’t notice his father step into the room until he said his name.

Glancing up, the smile returned to his face as he stood, expecting his father to wrap his arms around him and lift him up like he’d done in Spain and in Austria, offering his congratulations, pride shining in his words, his movements and his eyes. But after a pause, it became abundantly clear that wasn’t going to happen. Jos Verstappen stood, stony-faced, his arms folded tightly, and the tips of his ears were tinged with pink, a sign that Max unmistakeably recognised as a warning of his anger. But for the life of him he couldn’t work out why his father should be angry, this hadn’t been like Monaco, he’d done enough, he’d done what he had to do to make his father proud of him.

“Dad?” he asked uncertainly, his voice showing his young age; timid and tentative. Frowning in confusion he wracked his brains, needing to understand what he’d done wrong so he could fix it, “Is everything okay?”

After a moment his father met his gaze, and the look in his eyes rattled Max, making his heart hammer in his throat. Mingled with the unexpected anger, was disappointment, and perhaps even a hint of disgust.

“I saw you,” was all that he said, and though he thought it impossible, only one thing sprang to Max’s mind. But he had to believe that was his paranoia talking, that he only assumed that was what his father was talking about because that was what he feared most.

“…Saw me? What do you mean?” he said very slowly, trying not to let the quickly mounting panic slip into his tone. His father responded with a short, sharp scoff.

“Don’t play stupid Max,” he said his voice low, dangerously so, “I saw you, and Carlos. In the garage before the race.”

He couldn’t help but inhale suddenly, like the words had been a physical blow, his mind wanted to ask a million questions; _how? why? what? when?_ But he could only stand there, open mouthed, his face flushing in shame and the embarrassment of being caught, barely able to breathe as he felt those carefully constructed walls of secrecy crumble.

“I…” he stuttered, the words catching in his dry mouth, he hadn’t even imagined this would happen, he’d blindly assumed they wouldn’t be caught, that they were being careful enough. And now the last person in the world he wanted to know his secret was standing in front of him, revulsion in his expression, like he couldn’t bear to look at his own son.

“Nothing to say?” his father barked, making him flinch, “Huh?”

For a moment Max thought it was the blind panic that was making him choke, until he realised that his father had shoved him against the wall, and was using his arm to lean all his weight onto him, like he could squeeze the answer out of him. But all he was doing was knocking the air from his lungs, making it impossible to speak or event think. There was no lying his way out, there was no covering the truth, all he could think to do was apologise.

“Dad I’m sorry,” he managed to splutter the words, grappling at his father’s arm, “I’m sorry, please, just-…let go.”

“You better be sorry, I didn’t raise you like this, I didn’t raise a fucking faggot,” the words stung, even after he moved his arm, which left Max gasping for air, trying to refill his lungs. His head spun, both from lack of oxygen and from hearing his own father spit slurs at him, like he was nothing, less than nothing. Part of him wanted to make him understand, to tell him that he didn’t want this anymore than he did, but he found himself frozen in fear. He didn’t want to risk saying anything wrong, to make this worse than it already was.

“This ends now Max, alright? Are you listening to me?” he snapped, his face uncomfortably close to Max’s, the smell of his breath filling his nostrils so strongly that he had to fight from visibly cringing, “I’m going to find that boy an-…”

Max didn’t let his father finish his sentence, the very idea of him threatening Carlos igniting a spark of courage he hadn’t had earlier, and allowing him to find his words again.

“No!” he said, loud and decisively, placing a hand on his father’s shoulder like he could physically stop him.

But his father reacted quickly, striking out with a speed he didn’t know he was capable of, and smacking his son round the face with the back of his hand. The force made Max stumble, he tried to use the table on which his trophy sat to stop himself from falling, but his hand slipped and he ended up stumbling to the ground, clutching the side of his face, his head banging against the unyielding floor as he fell. His cheek and nose stung, and he felt a familiar hot sensation which let him know that he was bleeding, though from where he couldn’t tell in all his confusion and the way his head spun.

“Never again Max, never again,” his father hissed, bending down to make sure his son heard, and though he didn’t see him go, the slamming of the door let him know that he had left.

Still breathing hard, the only thing he found himself capable of doing was bringing one hand to his face, gingerly touching his head, jaw, chin and nose, feeling a twinge of pain as he did so, which he knew meant it would probably bruise and he would wake up tomorrow to find a lump on the side of his head, and as he looked down at the back of his hand, he saw a smear of blood across his skin.

“Shit,” he mumbled, his mind finally catching up to what had just happened, “Shit shit shit.”

A small, meaner part of his brain told him that he should have expected this, that he knew what his father could be like, he knew about the restraining orders and the dropped charges of attempted murder and the way he liked to treat people. But mostly he knew it would have been wrong of him to expect this, his father loved him, he was proud of him, Max was supposed to be one of the only people he didn’t treat this way. Deep inside his chest, he could feel the urge to cry building, and he might have, had he not been so consumed by shock which was blocking his ability to think coherently.

With hands he hadn’t realised were trembling before that moment he reached across to pick his phone off the table and after a couple of attempts, managed to call Carlos. After his boyfriend hung up, he slumped back against the wall, too numb to wipe the blood from his face, or try get up, so he focused all of his energy on breathing. And that was how Carlos found him when he finally arrived.

***

“Max?”

Carlos had been quite surprised when his phone has begun buzzing, Max’s name flashing up on the screen, a horrendously unflattering picture of him accompanying it. He’d been sat in the Toro Rosso motorhome with Dany, both of them feeling reasonably pleased with their performances, perhaps Dany even more so considering the bad luck he’d been having. While he had been wanting to see Max and congratulate him on his podium, he hadn’t expected that he’d see him until much later, so it was a pleasant surprise to see him calling, and he silently hoped that he’d been able to get away earlier. It took him a moment to remember that Dany didn’t know what was going on between him and Max, no one did after all, so he had to fight not to look too happy, but all his best efforts couldn’t wipe the smile from his face.

“I need you, I-I need your help,” the sound of his voice, raspy and breathless, the way it sounded when he was on the verge of tears stopped all of Carlos’ smiling immediately. More than that, he sounded genuinely pained.

“Are you okay? Has something happened?” he asked quickly, shooting to his feet before realising that he had nowhere to go because he didn’t even know where Max was. All he could think about was that something was very wrong and he had to be there to help. His heroic intentions caught Dany’s attention, who was now frowning at him, and mouthing ‘ _Is everything ok?’_. Carlos shook his head once waiting for Max to reply, his blood ran cold as he heard the shaky breaths Max was taking, trying to get his words out.

“It’s my dad he-,” a small sob interrupted his sentence and he could hear Max fighting to keep himself in control, “He knows Carlos, he knows and he-…”

“Okay okay, Max just tell me where you are,” though his heart was breaking, Carlos tried his hardest to stay calm, to sound as reassuring as possible, “Are you hurt?”

The last part of his sentence was whispered, quiet so no one else could hear, but also because he didn’t want his fears confirmed.

“I’m just in my motorhome, I’m not-…well, not badly, Carlos it’s not that bad,” Max spoke quickly, like the words were tripping over one another on the way out of his mouth. But Carlos didn’t care how bad it was, the fact that he was hurt at all, and the fact that it had been his own father made his hands curl into small fists and he fought to keep the anger out of his voice.

“Okay, I’m coming just stay exactly where you are,” he told him, pocketing the phone and picking up his jacket off the back of his chair with every intention of running as fast as he could to the Red Bull motorhome, without a care for how it would look.

“Is he alright?” Dany had caught him by the arm before he could leave and was looking up at him with concern in his eyes, Carlos had almost forgotten that he had heard most of the conversation, and something in his expression told him that he knew how deeply Carlos’ feelings surrounding this ran.

“Uh, no, not really,” he said, not sure how much Max would like it if he told his teammate was what going on. But part of him didn’t want to run in their alone in case Max was far more hurt than he was letting on, maybe help wouldn’t be such a bad idea. And he trusted Dany.

“He’s hurt?” he asked, lowering his voice respectfully. Carlos guessed he had heard that part of the conversation. Hesitating, he licked his lips thoughtfully.

“He says not badly, but I think so yes,” he admitted and Dany rose at his words. It looked like he’d be getting his help no matter what.

“I will get Pyry, he’ll be able to help if it’s bad, he’ll know what to do. Where is he?” Dany said immediately, the solution seeming to come to him much easier than it would have to Carlos. But then, he didn’t have so many feelings clouding his judgement.

“His room at the Red Bull motorhome,” Carlos replied and with those words Dany sped off in search of his performance trainer, he would know where to find them because the room used to be his after all. Distantly he worried about Max’s reaction to the extra help, although he seemed to like Dany, and sometimes spent time with him when they were both home in Monaco, their friendship had been uncertain after their swap. It was that which made it more surprising that Dany had offered his help so willingly, since he couldn’t have had a clue about the gravity of the situation. But Carlos often forgot how young Max really was, and that gave drivers like Dany and Daniel (who knew him fairly well) a small sense of responsibility over him. And in that moment Carlos was grateful for it.

Though his brain was screaming at him to run, to sprint as fast as he can, he restrained himself form doing so, knowing that added attention would be unwelcome. It wasn’t that unusual for a Toro Rosso driver to visit the Red Bull motorhome, or vice versa, and most people knew that him and Max were friends so it was easy to slip in without too much notice.

He knocked once on the door to let Max know that he was coming, and shut the door immediately behind him. It took a moment to see where his boyfriend was sat, but when his eyes fell on him, huddled against the wall, knees drawn up to his chest, he was at his side in an instant. Max’s eyes were shining when he looked at him, not quite crying, but that wasn’t what he was focused on; his nose was bleeding, and blood painted his lips and chin, though he looked unbothered by this. Carlos felt his stomach clench in anger when he remembered that it was Jos who had done that to him.

“Oh Max,” he said, wiping his thumb across his chin, trying to clean some of the blood off. Max responded by wrapping his hand around his wrist;

“He hates me Carlos, he actually hates me,” he spoke like he was testing the words, to see if he could really say them, and there was a moment where he looked like he was about to cry, but instead he swallowed and bowed his head.

“It’s okay, you’ve got me, we’ll think about that later. Where are you hurt? Dany’s gone to get Pyry to help,” he said, running a hand through Max’s hair to try soothe him.

“Dany?! But he-!” his head shot up as he spoke, but Carlos hurried to explain.

“He doesn’t know what happened, or why, he just overheard me on the phone and wanted to help, that’s all.”

“Oh okay,” Max said looking a little uncertain, like he wasn’t too keen on the idea. He reached up to rub the side of his head, wincing as he did so.

“Your head?” Carlos asked.

“Yeah, I hit it off the floor,” he mumbled, like he was ashamed though in Carlos’ mind he was the last person who should be ashamed.

There was a knock at the door and it opened a second later, Dany coming into the room followed by his trainer. When he caught sight of Max’s bloody face, his eyes widened and his eyebrows shot up, an expression Carlos though must have been similar to his. Pyry’s face was more unreadable, perhaps due to his job things like this didn’t bother him so much, or maybe it was simply because he had prepared himself. He carried a first aid kit in his hand, which he set on the table as he knelt on the other side of Max.

“Is it just your nose?” he asked, opening the box.

“I, uh, I hit my head too, and um…” he shook his head slightly, like he was thinking hard, “My chest, just my chest.”

Pyry nodded, and Carlos stood to give him more room, but that didn’t stop him watching closely, trying to see in his face any signs that he was in pain. He could feel Dany’s eyes on him, but he was almost beyond caring if he knew, a feeling that became even clearer when Pyry told Max to take his shirt off to reveal a steadily forming purple bruise across his chest, the sight made Carlos gasp and he had to bite his lip to stop himself saying anything.

“Max who did this?” Pyry asked gently, a few minutes later when he was shining a torch in Max’s eyes, checking for any signs of a concussion. Conflicting emotions ran across Max’s face and he looked to Carlos for advice, but he had none to give, Max didn’t have to tell anyone what had happened if he didn’t want to, but how he wished he would. All Carlos could do was offer him a small sad smile and a shrug.

“My dad,” he finally said, eliciting the first look of shock from Pyry, who dropped the torch and gaped at Max.

“What?” Dany said from beside Carlos, who had, up until this point, remained silent, “Why?”

This time Max declined to answer, simply shaking his head, bowing it again in that same gesture of embarrassment Carlos had seen earlier. There was an awkward moment where no one said anything, as the Russian and the Finn tried to digest this news. Pyry was the first one to return to his senses, and he began to pack up his first aid kit as he spoke;

“You have a mild concussion, nothing that resting shouldn’t fix but I would take it easy. Your nose isn’t broken thankfully, but there will be some bruising on your face, same with your chest, there’s nothing internal,” he spoke like he was reciting a list, but there was concern etched across his face which made it all seem less clinical, “Do you have somewhere to go? Somewhere…not with your dad?”

“He’ll stay with me tonight,” Carlos said immediately, earning him another look form Dany, which he ignored.

“I’ll go to my mum’s, in Belgium,” Max said, “Then I’ll decide what to do.”

Seemingly satisfied with this answer, Pyry stood and motioned to Dany that they should leave. He was on his way to the door when he stopped next to Carlos and whispered;

“Take care of him.”

Which was exactly what he intended to do. He took him back to his hotel room that night, he made sure Max ate their dinner, let him use the shower and borrow a pair of his pyjamas. Throughout all of this Max was mostly silent, sullen almost. It wasn’t until they were curled up in bed, Carlos’ arms wrapped around his frame, their legs tangled together, that he let go. The sound of quiet, heart-wrenching sobs filled the room, making Carlos hold him tighter, pressing kisses to his shoulders and the back of his neck. Eventually he tired himself out and drifted off, but Carlos stayed awake, holding onto him, letting him know that he was there, that he would always be there.


End file.
